


Discovery

by merentha13



Series: Desire [2]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:58:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1995891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merentha13/pseuds/merentha13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray's kiss gives Bodie somethings to think about</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discovery

Bodie woke for the fourth time and kicked off the bed sheet tangled around his legs with weary frustration. Morpheus was a mercurial god, and apparently had no use for him tonight. He normally had no trouble sleeping – anywhere - but this night's rest had been plagued by disturbing images of stark bare trees, swirling fog and miserable green eyes. Doyle. Leave it to the irritating, stroppy, stubborn, wilful git to deprive him of his night’s sleep.

Giving in to his restlessness, he climbed out of bed, into his robe and headed for the kitchen for a cup of tea – the cure for all ills. Staring at the kettle in his hand, he decided that he’d need something stronger. The bottle of Glenlivet abandoned when he and Doyle had been called out still sat on the work top. That would do. 

He poured himself a double and sat at the table.

Doyle. The bloody berk had opened Pandora’s Box.

If he was totally honest with himself, he hadn’t really been surprised that Doyle had tried it on with him. What had shocked him, into near paralysis, was the fact that Doyle _had actually_ tried it on with him. Brave, daring, confident and self assured – or rash, reckless and foolish - it wasn’t like Doyle to leave himself exposed. Doyle fiercely protected his vulnerabilities.

So what did Doyle want? Just a chance to get his leg over? No. He ruefully rubbed at his throbbing jaw. A right royal temper Doyle had when his motives were questioned.

 

_Too much drink had them giggling as Bodie fumbled with the keys to his flat._

_“Raffle’s got nothing on you, mate.” Doyle slurred, pressed close behind him as they staggered through the finally opened door._

_Bodie turned to set the alarms and found himself pushed roughly up against the back of the door, held in place by an angry Ray Doyle._

_“Ray?”_

_“You could have been killed, you bastard.” Whisky scented breath ghosted over Bodie’s face._

_“But I wasn’t. Leave it, Ray.” Bodie tried to step away._

_Doyle pushed closer, their faces inches apart.”You cretin, why did you -”_

_Bodie watched as the anger in the wide open eyes turned to fear and then into something not as easily identified._

_Doyle closed the small distance still between them. He leaned in and took Bodie’s mouth hard, forcing his tongue into a surprised mouth. “No”, he whispered, the word a caress across Bodie’s lips, “Not like that.” And he gentled the kiss, almost as if asking for permission._

_Bodie froze._

_Doyle moved away, warily watching him. He shrugged, rubbing the bridge of his nose and sighed resignedly. “Got it wrong, mate, ‘m sorry.”_

_Bodie somehow found his voice. “What the hell was that?”_

_“Should be obvious - even to you.” The belligerence returned to Doyle’s voice and stance. Colour crept up his cheeks._

_“Just looking to get your end away, eh, Doyle? Tension of the job getting to you?” Bodie buried his hurt in harsh words. “Well, go find yourself a bird, mate. I’ll not be your bit of rough.”_

_A hiss and a blur of motion were his only warnings. Bodie found himself on the floor, a painful ache in his jaw. Doyle’s ‘fuck off’ was punctuated by the crash of the slamming door._

 

Pouring himself another drink, Bodie recalled the feel of Doyle’s mouth on his. He felt himself stir.

_Maybe I was the one that got it wrong_ , he thought. He felt like he’d thrown something precious away, something that he really had wanted. 

_You’d been offered a chance at a treasure,’_ his heart whispered. Wouldn’t Doyle laugh at such quixotic thoughts? And he had thrown it away. Or had he? Doyle’s anger didn’t last long - a quick explosion and then, if given some time alone, he’d calm down. If Doyle really wanted him, maybe there was still a chance.

Now all he had to do was hope he could convince Doyle that he felt the same. 

He could do that, couldn’t he?

After all, hadn’t hope been the last thing that had escaped from Pandora’s Box?

Kiss a lover 

Dance a measure, 

Find your name 

And buried treasure... 

Face your life 

Its pain, 

Its pleasure, 

Leave no path untaken.” 

― Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tea and Swiss Roll Weekly Obbo 240: a picture prompt


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